Wild Grace

I was praying on my porch,
Or writing a poem,
Tiny jeweled frogs sang
Around the garden pond,
Sun had set, it was cooling.
Suddenly a rustle,
A stag and his
Following doe
Sailed silently by--

A rustle, then wild grace,
A poem-prayer,
An answer.

Graveside

Spirits of departed
Wheel like gulls
In morning sun
High over Marge
Of land and sea.

Flower on spear of leaf
Lay on gravestone
Small claims to memorialize
A life

Awaken grief
Surprising us alone
Sends gulls wheeling seaward
Important with small fames
Called home
To the Name of Names.


      By Charles Van Gorkom

Directions Forward

In the world 

Not of the world

Sanctuary

Robes hung unfurled

Crimson and golden

In sun bleached bush

Of white birch

In the church

Not of the church. 

Eucharist

Poured and broken

Every day

New spoken

And olden.